A few years back, I was interviewing candidates for a Team Manager role.
At the time, the client intake channels I was leading had turned the corner from rebuilding to growth. We had done a lot of hard work to get there, and I wasn't looking for someone who could simply fill a vacancy for a few months.
I wanted someone who could join the journey.
Someone who would contribute to the business, invest in the team and hopefully stick around long enough for us to build something together.
I'd already looked internally — I'm a big believer in build, not buy — but at that point, those we were growing weren't quite ready for the next step.
So, I turned to external recruitment.
Now, I've had some interesting interviews over the years.
There was the person who claimed to be a State Call Centre Manager, responsible for several contact centres, but didn't appear to know much of the common terminology… let alone the performance of said contact centres.
There was the candidate who turned up exactly as she appeared in her LinkedIn profile — in gym gear. Perfectly appropriate had I been recruiting for a gym.
Alas, I was not.
And then there was the candidate I found in the foetal position immediately before a role play.
That one ended with a call to the EAP.
Recruitment can be an interesting business.
But this candidate was different.
Her name was Anastacia.
And, at least on paper, she was highly capable, experienced and very overqualified for the role.
That intrigued me.
Why was someone with her qualifications and experience applying to become a Team Manager in my operation?
It's easy to make assumptions when you see a CV like that.
She'll leave.
She's desperate.
She doesn't really understand the role.
But I've always believed in looking for what Disney might call the diamond in the rough.
Sometimes the most interesting part of a CV isn't what's written on it.
It's the story behind it.
So, I picked up the phone and called her.
We went through the customary questions.
How are you?
Tell me about yourself.
How did you hear about the role?
Then I asked a question that changed the direction of the conversation for both of us.
"With all of your qualifications and experience, talk me through how this role fits into your personal why."
She explained that she was trying to get her foot in the door of the medical industry.
This Team Manager role wasn't the destination.
It was a way in.
Her real goal was to eventually use her qualifications in biomed.
As she spoke about it, something changed.
There was energy in her voice.
This was what she actually wanted.
And I had a decision to make.
I could hire her.
In fact, from my perspective, hiring her made a lot of sense.
She was capable.
She had experience.
She would probably have been very good at the job.
She could have helped me.
She could have helped my team.
But it wasn't a great role for her.
So, I said no.
Not quite the way candidates normally hear it, though.
I said something along the lines of:
"I'm not going to hire you for this role. But if you'll give me another 15 minutes, I'd like to walk you through how I think you might get to where you actually want to go faster than by taking this job."
"You're more than capable of doing this role, and I think you'd bring a lot to my team. But I also think it would be selfish of me to put you into a job that takes you sideways when you already know where you want to go."
She said yes.
So, for the next 15 minutes, the interview stopped being an interview.
It became a coaching conversation.
We talked about her ultimate career goal.
We talked about what she believed was stopping her from getting there.
Interestingly, one of the things she saw as a limitation was her experience.
On paper, she didn't look like the traditional candidate for the roles she actually wanted.
My challenge to her was simple:
What if that's not your weakness?
What if that's your strength?
She wasn't burdened by years of doing things the way they'd always been done.
She brought experience from somewhere else.
Different thinking.
Different perspectives.
Different ways of solving problems.
The question wasn't how to hide that difference.
It was how to demonstrate its value.
So, the conversation shifted.
How could she tell that story in an application?
How could she articulate it in an interview?
How could she demonstrate that her experience wasn't something an employer would need to overlook, but something they should actively want?
That was the conversation she needed.
Not another interview for a job she didn't really want.
And it taught me something about leadership that I've carried with me ever since.
As leaders, we're often rewarded for getting people through the door.
Filling vacancies.
Building teams.
Holding onto good people.
And when a highly capable person appears in front of us, our instinct can understandably be:
How do I get this person onto my team?
But leadership asks a harder question:
What's actually best for them?
Sometimes those two answers are the same.
Sometimes they're not.
And that's when leadership gets uncomfortable.
Because occasionally the best thing you can do for someone is open the door.
And occasionally it's to stop them walking through the wrong one.
We need to be willing to say no.
No to the role.
No to the opportunity.
No, even when saying yes would make our own lives easier.
Because sometimes a small no creates the space for a much greater yes.
And perhaps that's one of the quieter responsibilities of leadership:
Not simply helping people succeed with us, but helping them become who they're meant to be — even when that takes them somewhere else.